


tongue-tied (hearts entwined)

by emilieee



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Ice Skating, Marichat, Marichat May, chat noir can't keep his tongue in his mouth bc he a dumb dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilieee/pseuds/emilieee
Summary: Chat Noir has the annoying habit of sticking his tongue out whenever he's concentrating. Marinette hates that she finds it (and him) ridiculously cute.Now all she has to do is get through the denial.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 40
Kudos: 346





	tongue-tied (hearts entwined)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emsylcatac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emsylcatac/gifts).



> Marichat May: Cat got your tongue/Blep

The first time Marinette notices the habit, she brushes it off. 

Chat Noir sits on the balcony with her as he attempts to disentangle a ball of yarn from his body. He had claimed that no, he hadn’t in fact been chasing it and it was most definitely not his fault (meaning that it most likely was). 

Now, he is wrapped like a Christmas present in neon yellow string. Marinette refuses to help him, so Chat yanks and pulls and stretches the yarn with utmost focus—all with his tongue poking out of his mouth. 

Marinette watches him. He doesn’t even seem to notice her presence and only continues in his concentration. His tongue does not return to its rightful place (out of sight, out of mind)—it continues to stick out in the most _obnoxiously_ adorable way ever and Marinette is almost tempted to tell him to shove it back in so she can stop finding him cute. 

Before she can do so, Chat Noir lets out a groan. His tongue swipes over his lips and disappears, to Marinette’s relief (and disappointment). “Cataclysm,” he grumbles under his breath. 

With that, he cataclysms the yarn to free himself. It falls to black dust all around him like ashes. 

“What?” Chat asks when he sees her staring. “It was efficient. Don’t look at me like that.” 

Marinette blinks and shakes her head. Had she found him _cute_ just a moment ago? No, she decides. Obnoxious, maybe, but definitely not cute. 

( _No way.)_

***

It happens a couple more times before Marinette realizes that it’s become a problem. 

They’re playing video games in her room, an odd little routine they’ve developed. Chat Noir is surprisingly enthusiastic about beating her in Ultimate Mecha Strike III, which, so far, he has not been able to do. 

Marinette makes the mistake of sneaking a glance at him in the middle of a match. He’s holding the controller, staring at the screen with the same intensity he often directs at akumas, and, best—no, _worst_ of all, his tongue is sticking out of his mouth again. 

She stares at him for a little too long. A _little_ too long turns to really, _really_ too long, because Marinette is only snapped out of her thoughts when Chat Noir throws his hands up with a triumphant _whoop._ “I _won!”_ he crows at her, and Marinette turns to look at the screen in dismay. 

Sure enough, he had finally bested her. The stats flash across the screen—he’d only won by a margin, but he had won nonetheless, breaking her streak of eighteen wins and zero defeats. Now, a red 1 flashes across the screen under her _losses,_ and Marinette groans.

“No fair,” she complains. “I was distracted for a second. You wouldn’t have won if I weren’t.” 

“Distracted?” Chat frowns at her. “Distracted by what?” 

_Your tongue_ does not suffice as an answer. Not unless she wants to die of embarrassment and shame. As Marinette fumbles for an acceptable reply, Chat sets down his controller and leans forward. “Admit it,” he grins, infuriatingly smug. “I won fair and square.” 

Marinette pushes his nose away from her. Her face is burning. “I’m going to kick your ass harder next time, and you’re going to regret this.” 

His grin widens. “I’d like to see you try.” 

(He’s _not_ cute. Just annoying.) 

***

Chat comes by to bake when Marinette’s parents are out of town one day. He asks her to teach him how to make macarons, but it’s a far too advanced skill for his limited scope. So instead, they come to an agreement to make Chinese pineapple buns. Now, standing shoulder to shoulder, Marinette teaches him to knead dough. 

He’s all wide eyes and concentration, tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth as he follows her movements. Marinette forgets about rolling her own dough in favor of watching him. His ears are sticking up straight on top of his head. 

He’s _so annoyingly cute._

“Okay!” Chat suddenly announces. “Is this good enough—Marinette? Is there something on my face?” 

“Huh?” she looks at him, looks at the dough, looks at her own unfinished one, and promptly feels her face flush. Then, against all better judgement, Marinette blurts, “Why do you always stick your tongue out like that?” 

“Like what?” Chat tilts his head slightly then sticks his tongue straight out. “Likthe thith?” 

“No!” Marinette practically yelps, then throws her hands up. “Your dough isn’t ready! Stop slacking!” 

He purposefully keeps his tongue out the whole time until Marinette is shaking from laughter. 

(Maybe he’s cute. _Slightly.)_

***

“It’s called blepping,” Chat Noir tells her. 

“What?” Marinette looks up from her project. “What’s called what?” 

“Apparently cats do it too,” he continues. “Stick their tongue out, that is.” 

“Well,” Marinette tells him, nearly tripping over her words. “You’re not _actually_ a cat.” 

“I don’t appreciate you telling me what I can be and what I can’t be,” Chat sniffs back. “Besides, it’s not a problem for anyone, so I don’t see why I can’t embrace my cat instincts.” 

“Cat instincts,” she parrots under her breath. “Yeah, right.” 

“Wait. You’re not bothered by it, right, Mari?” 

Marinette snorts. “Who, me? Why would I be bothered?” 

Chat shrugs. “See? Then it’s whatever.” 

It’s not _whatever_ , but Marinette isn’t going to let him know that. A moment later, when he’s focusing again, she catches another glimpse of the pink tip of his tongue. 

Why does he have to be _so cute?_

(She is in deep, _deep_ trouble.) 

***

Chat’s terrible at tying his laces. 

It would’ve been funny—from the way his eyebrows are scrunched, ears twitching as he fumbles uselessly with the string—if it weren’t for the fact that all of that was accompanied by the tongue poking out over his top lip. Marinette knows she should stop staring, because then she can stop finding him cute. But she keeps staring, like a whole _idiot._

To her mortification, Chat looks up at her and grins when she catches her turning away hurriedly. “Is my face that great to stare at?” he asks. 

“What?” Marinette shrieks. “No! I’m looking at you tie your laces. Do you seriously not know how to do them up?” 

Chat pouts. “It’s hard to do with claws,” he grumbles, wiggling his fingers. Then he sticks his leg out. “You can do it for me.” 

Marinette does it, only to have an excuse to duck her face so he can’t see how red her cheeks are. 

It’s one of their monthly outings that Chat Noir claims essential to their friendship. He had launched into an indignant tirade when Marinette suggested they could skate at a rink, insisting that they skate _in nature._

Now, at the small pond with hints of snow beginning to fall, Marinette has to admit that he made the right call. The wind nips at her nose with the slightest hints of cold, but not _too_ cold that it’s uncomfortably so. Bundled in her own handcrafted scarf, mittens and toque, the worst of the chill is kept out. Even Chat is wearing an overcoat over his suit. 

They’re far from the city; in fact, they’re far from Paris itself. The horse Miraculous is tucked safely away in one of Chat’s pockets (which, ironically, he had borrowed from Ladybug). Here, away from the buzzing and business of the city, her thoughts feel clearer than they have been in a long, long time. The snow, fresh and still falling, offers a muted sort of quiet that leaves her room to think and ponder without interruptions. 

(Too bad all her thoughts just linger on Chat.) 

((Or maybe that’s a good thing.)) 

Marinette double knots Chat’s laces. “There,” she announces, then adds, “you big baby.” 

“It’s the claws’ fault!” he exclaims again. “Race you to the pond?” 

Before Marinette can react, Chat grabs the hem of her toque and pulls it down over her eyes. Then, with a boyish laugh, she hears him run off, _crunch, crunch, crunching_ over fresh snow. 

Marinette scrambles to her feet, cursing him under her breath as she snatches her mittens and brushes the wool out of her face. Chat is already halfway to the pond, and with one last desperate attempt to win, she chucks her mittens at him. 

They miss by a margin, landing in the snow and inciting more laughter. 

“You’re a cheat!” she shrieks when Chat reaches the ice. “I hope you know that!” 

“Sore loser!” he yells from the ice, already twirling easily on his skates. “You don’t see me complaining every time you win in Ultimate Mecha Strike!” 

Marinette retrieves her mittens from the ground and brushes the snow from them. “You complain _every single time,”_ she grinds out, joining him on the ice. The moment her skates touch the pond, Chat’s already darting away from her with easy grace. He glides, spins, then starts skating backwards so the smug grin is fully displayed. 

“Come get me!” Chat Noir calls, sticking his tongue out. His hands are tucked behind his back, and he loops each glide, one foot behind the other with ridiculous ease. _Show off._

“If you’re going to keep sticking your tongue out, then I dare you to lick that,” Marinette yells at him, pointing at the lamp pole that stands a couple of paces from them. “Bet you won’t.” 

Never one to back down from a challenge, he raises an eyebrow. “What do I get if I do?”

“I’ll bake you a batch of whatever you want.”

“Oh, you’re so _on._ Also, if a batch of cookies is usually twelve cookies, do you think I could get a batch of twelve cakes—” 

“I’m taking back the bet,” Marinette mock-threatens. 

“Okay, okay! I want those mooncakes we had two weeks ago! Three of them.” 

She skates up to Chat as he makes his way to the pole. He tromps off the ice, skates sinking into the fresh snow and leaving deep imprints, before sidling up to the pole. 

Frost spirals in small flowery patterns over the metal. Marinette grins when she sees Chat hesitate. 

“Well?” she asks. “Chickening out now?” 

“Never,” he grins. Then, with one swift movement, he licks the metal pole and pulls back. 

Or _tries_ to. 

Chat lets out a muffled cry of distress and pain when the tip of his tongue sticks to the metal. Immediately, his hands go to wrap around the pole, pulling himself close enough until the hurt smooths off his face, soon replaced by panic. “Marinethe!” he yelps. 

Marinette stares at him, her body frozen in a mixture of shock and amusement. Then the shock gives way to pure delight, and she bursts out laughing. 

Chat takes it in stride. “Ha, ha,” he grumbles as she doubles over. He looks so _stupid,_ with his tongue sticking out, gloved hands gripping the pole as his eyebrows scrunch. “Vthery thunny, Marinethe. Can you helpth?” 

“You should see yourself,” Marinette manages throughout her giggles. “Oh my _God,_ Chat, you really deserve this for not having better judgement.” 

He lets out a long suffering groan. “Geth thith o _ffth!”_

“This is what people sounded like in Shakespearan times,” she continues. 

Chat side-eyes her, unable to move his head any more than a bare centimeter. “Justh helpth!” 

“Ooh, I got a good one. Cat got your tongue?” 

He groans. “Is thith whath ith thakes for you tho maketh a joke?” 

Marinette snaps a quick picture before taking pity on him. “Wait here,” she tells him. “I packed us hot tea. A little bit will be enough to unstick your tongue, probably.” 

She skates back to where their bags lay on the bench and retrieves the thermos. Half a minute late, Marinette is pouring the steaming liquid into the cap, cooling it just enough, before raising it over Chat’s tongue. “Okay,” she tells him. “Get ready.” 

For all his superhero experience and near-death scrapes, he actually looks scared of the tea. “Ith won’th burn me?” 

“No,” Marinette reassures and raises the cup to her lips to take a sip. “See? Warm, not hot.” 

Chat closes his eyes. Very carefully, Marinette pours a small stream steadily onto where Chat’s tongue has stuck to the metal pull. “Try to move away?” she suggests. 

He wiggles his shoulders. 

“I mean your face,” Marinette tells him drily. “Don’t be a scaredy cat.” 

He scrunches his nose, then very slowly, moves his head back. 

The tea does its job, because Chat unsticks himself from the metal easily. His eyes widen as if he can’t believe his luck, then lifts a cautious hand to his mouth and touches the tip of his tongue. “Ow,” he hisses. “It feels like I’ve burned my taste buds off.” 

“You _froze_ your taste buds off, but yes.” Marinette screws the lid back onto the thermos. “Lesson learned?” 

“ _You_ dared me. You wanted this to happen, huh?” 

She shrugs. “Can’t say I wasn’t expecting it.” 

A look of playful betrayal sweeps over Chat’s face, and he lunges for her. Marinette, expecting it, scrambles out of the way just in time for him to go barrelling into a pile of snow. 

By the time Chat Noir has sat up, snow tucked between his ears and all over his hair like cotton, she is already darting across the ice far, far away from him. Chat shakes the flakes from his head and slips onto the ice in one fluent movement as well. 

Marinette grins as he comes skating after her. She’s not quite as confident on her skates without her transformation, but lessons and practice have done it’s good because she’s _nearly_ as good as Chat is on the ice. For a good fifteen seconds she evades his messy attempts to catch her, but her disadvantage without her suit comes creeping up little by little until Chat finally manages to wrap a hand around her wrist. 

“Gotcha,” he grins. 

Then, with a little shove, Marinette crashes into the bank. 

It doesn’t _hurt,_ per say, because it’s a snowdrift he’s sent her into, but the cold is still a shock. For a moment, she stares at Chat, who’s laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world, before Marinette comes back to her senses and kicks a her leg at the blade of his skates. 

Even his enhanced senses don’t help him from tumbling right into the pile of snow next to her, sending a flurry of white into the air. 

One look at each other later, they’re both laughing. 

(It’s nice; the time together, the easiness and lack of…everything else. It’s nice, his smile. His eyes.) 

((And it’s then that Marinette realizes that she’s in deep, deep waters with no sight of the shore.)) 

*** 

They sit together on the bench, steaming tea between them, as Marinette shakes the last of the snow from her scarf and toque. 

The sun is beginning to set, and the coldness has begun to creep into her bones, leaking through her overcoat. Every exhale sends little ghosts into the air, and even with the warm tea, Marinette is beginning to shiver. 

Still, they’d arranged to watch the sunset, which means that she’s going to stay even if it means freezing to death. 

“Let’s skate more,” Chat says. “You’ll be less cold if you’re moving.” 

“I’d be less cold if you didn’t throw me into a pile of snow,” Marinette says between chattering teeth. 

He gives her a sheepish look. “You got payback, at least? Come on.” 

She looks at the hand extended to her. For a moment, Marinette hesitates, even if the butterflies in her stomach are doing a whole gymnastics routine and her heart’s _thump thump thump_ must’ve quickened to at least twice as fast. 

Then she takes Chat’s hand and lets him pull her to her feet. 

This time, when she steps onto the ice, he doesn’t let go. Chat Noir’s hands are comfortably warm, tight around hers, and Marinette lets him lead her around the lake in a simple but graceful glide. 

They skate until the sky turns from blue to gold, until the clouds dye orange and the world changes color altogether. It’s only then that Chat stops, lifting his head to the sunset. Marinette follows his gaze. 

“It’s still cold,” she tells him pointedly, after a minute. 

Before she knows it, Marinette is standing against his back, Chat’s arms draped lazily over her shoulders and his chin resting on top of her head. She can’t see him from where she’s standing, but she wonders if he can see _her_ ; if he can hear how her heart has jumped right to her throat and notice how the redness in her cheeks can’t be fully credited to the cold. 

“Better?” he asks. 

Marinette turns back to the sky, where now a brushstroke of red smears across the horizon. “Only slightly,” she replies as nonchalantly as possible. 

His body shakes in a silent laugh. And so they stand on the ice, against the cold, until it all melts away to warmth. 

(And Marinette thinks that even if she’s in deep waters, this sort of drowning is the best way to go.) 

**Author's Note:**

> EMSY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! ilysm i know this is kinda late but i hope you enjoyed <3 
> 
> kinda went off topic from chat blepping and got a lil long, but.... oop 
> 
> fun fact: i said chat's lines with my tongue out so i could get an accurate portrayal of what he would sound like with his tongue stuck.... felt like a FOOL


End file.
